Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
In other words, Veda’s exact opposite.
Eve watched Elton’s gaze bounce from the sister, Alexis, to the Grease extra’s arm, which was crooked around the back of Veda’s neck, tugging her close as they advanced toward the bar. In the end, Elton’s eyes stayed on Veda, a telltale muscle ticking in his cheek.
Red alert.
“Hey, guys,” Veda said, seemingly avoiding eye contact with Elton. “This is my . . . friend and bandmate? Slightly more? I don’t know, but his name is Smith.” She hesitated, seeming kind of nervous, but she finally looked at Elton. “And this is my sister, Alexis. Alexis, this is Elton and Eve.”
Elton stood slowly, jerking his chin at Smith. “Hey.”
Smith fished the toothpick out of his mouth. “Hey.”
“This space is just a dream. You’ve done wonders with it, Eve,” Alexis effused, cutting the odd tension, before coming forward, tucking her purse neatly beneath one arm and extending a hand toward Elton. “It’s nice to meet you. Alexis.”
Elton pried his attention off Smith and Veda, making a visible effort to focus on the young woman who couldn’t be more his type if she tried. “Hi, Alexis.” He tipped his head at the bar, swallowing. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Her pearly whites were on full display. “Sure!”
It made no sense that Veda appeared crestfallen when she’d been the one to show up with Smith. Not to mention her sister, who she’d brought specifically to introduce to Elton. But there it was. Veda watched Elton and Alexis launch into an easy conversation, her body language that of someone who’d just been trampled.
Eve would have to sort through the odd undercurrent between Veda and Elton later, though, because the Gilded Garden was at maximum capacity for the first time ever.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Eve said, gesturing for everyone to take the remaining seats at the bar. “I have to help the waitstaff and give the performer a five-minute warning.”
* * *
Nine minutes later, Eve couldn’t even call drink orders over the cheering—and the praise was well earned, because Rhonda cooked. She emerged from behind the blue curtain in a floor-length robe adorned with peacock feathers—presumably fake—and fluttered her falsies for a good thirty seconds to absorb the applause. She then crooked her finger at the busboy, whispering something in his ear, to which he nodded, with a grin on his face. Eve’s eyes widened considerably as the busboy got down on all fours, acting as a footrest while Rhonda proceeded to peel back one side of her robe, demurely, making a meal out of stripping off her thigh-high fishnet stockings one at a time.
Gradually, skillfully, the robe came off one rolling, shimmying shoulder. Then it slipped off the other, the duster slithering to the ground before Rhonda bent forward, ass to the crowd, giving them just a flash, before she was back under the robe, midspin to face the audience once more, the music picking up tempo. Using the busboy as her voluntary footstool again, she propped a pointed toe on his shoulder and leaned back, arching, reveling in the purposeful movement of her ample cleavage.
Remembering what Rhonda had said backstage, Eve scanned the crowd and, indeed, saw several young women transfixed by Rhonda’s confidence. Her enjoyment of herself, her body, what it could do. This was important.
Although every constructive thought in Eve’s mind fled when Rhonda faced the crowd fully and finally ditched the robe . . . living up to her nickname and then some.
A beat of silence swept over the crowd. Then they absolutely lost it.
Veda bounded up beside her. “Dude.”
“Dude.”
“Do we even need the GoFundMe now?”
It wasn’t lost on Eve that Veda had started using “we” with regularity when referring to the triumphs, woes, and potential future of the Gilded Garden. Oddly, she didn’t mind it so much. “Yes, we do,” Eve said, sending Rhonda a thumbs-up. “I’m in a lot of debt.”
Veda nodded right through that revelation. “Not for long.”
Eve slow-clapped. “Give it up for Full Bush Rhonda.”
“A living legend.”
Chapter Nineteen
Madden picked up a stuffed bear from the shelf of the rest stop convenience store, turning it over in his hands. Did five-year-olds still like stuffed animals? Maybe a coloring book and crayons would be a better option. Growing up, he’d had a filthy, ripped-up football—soccer ball, they called it here—and that ball had been his constant companion. He’d kicked it against every wall in his neighborhood, used it as a chair while he ate his supper, slept with it at the foot of his bed.
When he’d started playing baseball upon landing in Rhode Island, he’d thought about that filthy football, flattened somewhere in a trash heap, and mentally apologized for betraying it, silly as it sounded. Long story short, he’d never had toys.
Though his siblings, the legitimate ones, were given plenty.
Unable to swallow the obstruction in his throat, Madden swiped another teddy bear off the shelf. A blue one and a brown. They could have their pick.